As the tourney approached, Arthur poured all his energy into the grand event.
As his first formal appearance since becoming the Sword of the Morning, this tourney held extraordinary significance for him.
It wasn't just for honor; it was to prove his strength to all of Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms.
He had to win. Failure was not an option.
To this end, Arthur even moved his quarters from Starfall to the tent encampment at the tourney grounds, allowing him to dedicate himself entirely to training.
Every morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the peaks of the Red Mountains, his figure could be seen on the lists, repeatedly practicing lance charges, adjusting his riding posture, and adapting to the terrain.
In his spare time, he carefully observed the training habits of other knights, looking for potential weaknesses while reflecting on his own shortcomings.
As for the other affairs of Starfall, since the major directions had already been set, Arthur delegated them to trusted subordinates.
The old master-at-arms presided over the high platform judgments in his stead, leading Ser Balon and the captain of the guard to maintain order.
The agency cooperation for the Peach Orchard was handed over entirely to Pate after Lord Selwyn Tarth hurried back to sign the contract for the Stormlands.
The construction of the road connecting Beacon Tower and the Prince's Pass was entrusted to Ser Williams, the acting Castellan of Nightfall Keep, with assistance from the Steward of Star Station, the Maester, and Quentin the Architect.
Arthur authorized Karen the Fat Steward to use the list of hedge knights and impoverished knights obtained by Karl Byrch, recruiting them with the promise of fine weapons and armor from the Artisan District.
On the newly built, spacious tourney grounds, many knights were practicing to familiarize themselves with the field.
"How is it? Does the rattan armor fit well?"
Arthur and Ser Daemon Sand finished a round of practice with blunted lances on one of the tracks. They checked the chalk marks left by the lance tips on each other's armor.
"This is what I promised you back in Sunspear."
Daemon took off his helm, shaking out black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He laughed. "Light and breathable. I finally understand how you defeated Prince Oberyn."
He handed his reins to a stable boy and walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Arthur toward the rest area on the sidelines.
"But this is an elimination tournament. With this armor, you'd better be careful when you face me. Don't let me catch an opening."
"I give my all, no matter when." Arthur casually placed his helm on a long table, picked a plump peach from a platter, and took a bite. Juice dripped down his beard.
He wiped his mouth and asked half-jokingly:
"Seriously, in the final match at Sunspear, when your father, Ser Ryon Allyrion, defeated you to keep his champion's seat... did you throw the match?"
The rest area provided long tables and chairs for the knights, laden with water, peaches, blood oranges, and biscuits.
This room was specifically designated for Dornish knights.
Arthur had deliberately arranged separate rest areas for Reachmen and Dornishmen on opposite sides of the grounds to minimize contact and avoid trouble before the matches.
Daemon gulped down a large cup of water and lowered his voice. "What could I do? He's my father."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Everyone says my twenty consecutive victories made me the biggest winner at Sunspear. But I think your father is the real winner—kept his seat and won the beauty."
"Lady Ynys Yronwood is young, beautiful, and from a noble house. A good match indeed."
"But speaking of which, after your houses are united, will Godsgrace and you lean toward Prince Quentyn?"
"My grandmother decides everything for Godsgrace. I don't know." Daemon shook his head with a bitter smile.
"As for me... Arianne asked me to send you her regards."
Arthur chuckled. It seemed Daemon was still deeply poisoned by Arianne and hadn't shaken her influence.
After resting for about half an hour, the two mounted up for another round of training. They didn't retreat to the shade until the midday sun baked the ground hot.
By then, few knights were training. Most were either hiding in tents to escape the heat or chatting in small groups.
In the afternoon, when the heat subsided slightly, Arthur returned to the sidelines to quietly observe other knights training.
He meticulously noted everyone's habits.
Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, had a habit of lowering his lance slightly before charging, adjusting his posture only at the last moment.
Arthur knew this was a trick. If the opponent's horse was skittish and slowed down, it would greatly reduce the impact force of the lance strike.
Baelor "Brightsmile" Hightower loved to feint at the last second, obscuring his true target.
Arthur couldn't help but wonder if the "Baelor Breakwind" incident from Oberyn's stories was also the result of a feint gone wrong.
Ser Uller of Hellholt was exactly as Arthur remembered—charging recklessly without a care for his own safety, fighting like a madman.
Half the Ullers were mad, and the other half were worse.
Other knights had their own quirks. These details might become the key to victory in the official matches.
Among the many knights, Arthur paid the most attention to Lord Beric Dondarrion, the Lightning Lord of Blackhaven.
This Lord of Blackhaven, betrothed to Allyria in the original timeline, had reddish-gold hair and handsome features.
Practicing in the yard, he wore a black satin cloak scattered with stars and rode a black courser. His breastplate, shield, and helm all bore the forked purple lightning sigil.
Arthur nodded to himself. Lord Beric was indeed the best choice for Allyria in terms of looks, age, and rank.
Moreover, Arthur knew that even after dying six times, Lord Beric had continued to follow the King's (and Eddard's) orders: protecting the smallfolk, upholding justice, and keeping his vows.
He judged before sentencing and never killed the innocent. He was a knight who truly lived by the code. His character was top-tier.
On the field, Lord Beric unhorsed a Stormlands knight he was practicing with and shouted excitedly, "I'm here to take the champion's crown!"
Arthur smirked. Alright, maybe a little flashy and reckless.
Thus, Arthur trained, observed, and adjusted without distraction. By two days before the tourney, he had slowly tuned himself to peak condition.
At dusk, the master of ceremonies entered the tent and respectfully handed over a parchment scroll. "My lord, registration for all events has closed."
"There are 354 knights competing in the joust. Here is the bracket for the first round."
Arthur unrolled the list. His eyes quickly locked onto his first opponent—Ser Jon Fossoway of the "Green Apple" Fossoways from New Barrel in the Reach.
He had seen this knight on the practice field. Although Ser Jon had excellent equipment, his horsemanship was rusty and his movements sluggish.
Arthur didn't underestimate any opponent, but he was already calculating potential opponents for the second round.
Arthur frowned slightly. "354 knights. How long to determine a champion?"
"Given the scale of the grounds, at least five days. If the matches are closely contested, possibly longer," the master of ceremonies bowed, excitement evident in his voice.
"Without a doubt, this will be a tourney of unprecedented grandeur."
Arthur nodded slightly. "Go publish the list."
After the master of ceremonies left, Arthur continued to study potential future opponents. Suddenly, the tent flap was lifted, bringing in a breeze scented with flowers.
Allyria strode in, grass stains on the hem of her dress. Margaery Tyrell followed closely behind, walking elegantly with a warm, ingratiating smile.
"Auntie, Lady Margaery, you've returned from hawking?" Arthur looked up and asked indifferently.
"How was the catch? Whose hawk had the best harvest?"
Allyria pouted and tossed her gloves onto the table.
"Everyone else's hawks caught wild ducks, herons, rabbits, or squirrels. But Sharpwing..."
She made an exaggerated gesture. "He dragged back a whole wild boar! How can anyone compare?"
Margaery covered her mouth and giggled, her clear, doe-like eyes shining with admiration. "Willas breeds the finest falcons in the Reach, but I have never seen anything like your Sharpwing, Ser."
She smoothed her skirt gracefully, her gaze sweeping the tent.
"You flatter me, Lady Margaery," Arthur said modestly, then looked around. "Edric didn't come back with you?"
"That child..." Allyria sighed. "He said he found the knight he wants to serve. He took some men to the Artisan District to buy equipment for his new master."
"Oh? Which knight is so lucky?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Brienne of Tarth. Lord Selwyn's daughter."
Allyria emphasized the word daughter.
Arthur just gave a faint "Oh" and looked back at the scroll.
Allyria's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's your reaction? Aren't you surprised?"
"The tourney is imminent. Knights are sweating buckets on the field for glory; who has time for hawking?" Arthur didn't look up.
"If Edric insists, I choose to respect him."
"He's just a child! The person he wants to serve isn't even a knight, or a man!" Allyria turned to Margaery.
"I want him to go to Highgarden. Margaery promised me he could be a squire for Duke Mace."
Margaery's eyes were full of sincerity. "Highgarden has the best master-at-arms and companions of his age. My father would give him an excellent..."
"Thank you for your kindness, Lady Margaery." Arthur stood up, his tone polite but firm.
"No offense intended, but I haven't met Lord Mace and I don't know his character. I won't hand Edric over to someone I've never met to raise, even if he is the Warden of the South."
"But..."
Allyria was about to argue, but Arthur raised a hand to stop her. " regarding Edric, let's discuss it after hearing Maester Oswell's advice."
"Edric is mad at me over this, and you... you're all..." Allyria stomped her foot in frustration, leaving deep imprints in the rug.
She knew this was just an excuse from Arthur.
"Fine! Do whatever you want!"
With that, she stormed out of the tent like a whirlwind, the flap slapping loudly behind her.
Margaery watched the swaying flap. "Aren't you going to chase her?"
"She's not a little girl throwing a tantrum." Arthur sat back down, tapping his fingers on the table.
"Is there anything else, Lady Margaery?"
"Since you are unwilling to let Edric serve a stranger," Margaery said, "you must have met my brother, Loras Tyrell?"
"The Knight of Flowers?" Arthur blinked. "He is indeed pretty, and his lance skills are decent."
Margaery pressed on. "If Edric became his squire..."
"Why not let Edric be your squire?" Arthur suddenly leaned forward, impatience in his violet eyes.
"Lady Margaery, you are highborn and beautiful, but I don't have time to play games with you right now. Let's speak plainly."
"First your cousins approached Edric. Then you encouraged Allyria to persuade Edric and me to send him to Highgarden. What exactly does House Tyrell want?"
During breaks in training, Arthur had occasionally switched his vision to check on Edric.
From the start, he had seen the Tyrell cousins approaching the boy. Later, Edric had been chatting happily with Brienne.
Margaery had instigated Allyria to send Edric to Highgarden, causing a fight between aunt and nephew. Now she had brought Allyria here.
Honestly, Arthur didn't have much goodwill toward the sweet-faced, approachable "Rose of Highgarden" right now.
Margaery was stunned by the sudden bluntness but quickly recovered her composure. "House Tyrell wishes to cooperate with you regarding the Amber Peach Wine."
"I assume you've heard," Arthur leaned back, interlacing his fingers.
" regarding the Reach region, I have already signed a contract with Lord Mathis Rowan. It cannot be changed."
Margaery steadied herself, calmly adjusting her cuffs. "What about other regions? Like the Crownlands?"
Arthur studied the Little Rose before him. She looked gentle and harmless, but her eyes shone with shrewd calculation.
Choosing a business partner was different from choosing a marriage partner. Sometimes, bigger wasn't better. The key was suitability and equality.
Fowler, Rowan, and Tarth were secondary lords, comparable in scale to Starfall. Arthur had no qualms cooperating with them.
Highgarden was too massive, and their appetite was correspondingly huge. Arthur felt the profits from the wine wouldn't satisfy them. If he wasn't careful, he might end up swallowed whole.
Under Margaery's expectant gaze, Arthur slowly shook his head.
"I have no plans to add more regional agents at this stage. Actually, you could talk to House Redwyne and ask them to open the agency rights for Arbor Gold to you."
Feeling slightly rude for refusing a noble lady repeatedly, Arthur added, "If you truly like Amber Peach Wine, Lady Margaery, I will gift you seven barrels personally."
"I understand." Margaery stood up gracefully. "Sorry to disturb you, Ser."
She turned, her skirt creating a perfect arc. She paused at the tent entrance. "There is no need for the seven barrels."
Once Margaery left, Arthur closed his eyes and focused, switching his consciousness to Sharpwing's vision.
From high above, he saw Allyria angrily throwing stones into the river outside the camp, having shooed her guards away.
Just as Arthur was about to go find her, a figure with reddish-gold hair appeared in his vision, making him abandon the idea.
Fate, truly, is wondrous.